Through Time
by Satol
Summary: Somewhere in one of the four islands of Japan, there is a rice paddy by a mountain stream. There lies the home of rebirth.


_I'm going to warn you up front: this plot-line can be a little bit confusing. But I liked it that way. So please don't think too hard about it._

_This story really just plays with the idea of after Giotto moved to Japan, and then that one theory that the Vongola legacy is 400 years old (generation-wise, I would say it's 300 at the most, probably a little over 200, but that's just me). Also, I took the idea of Hibari-san being very traditional and really ran with it. Also, please know that, until the Meiji restoration, Japanese typically had no surnames, and this story takes during the early Edo Period, somewhere between 1605 and 1623, more than 200 years earlier._

_I only did basic research, so please correct me if you find anything wrong!  
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><p>When he opened his eyes, he was standing on a narrow dirt path, wide enough probably for one cart only. On one side of the path lay a vast grass field, the green fronds waving in the breeze. On the other side, a vast area was covered in water, rice growing in clumps, meticulously arranged in grids.<p>

He was dressed in a traveler's attire. A light, but warm, robe, and a pack on his back. The sandals on his feet were well-worn, and the face, too, with its gray eyes and emotionless expression, had the maturity of a veteran. Much of the straight black hair was loosely tied in a topknot at the back, and the wide-brimmed straw hat was unworn, hanging on his back from his neck.

"Wah!"

He looked forward then, to see a figure fallen farther down the road. Striding towards the other, he realized that the boy had light brown hair, and his eyes narrowed quizzically. He had never seen such a color, the same shade as a tree's bark, mostly short, and at the back tied in a long tail like one might have tied a bundle of grains. Even the Portugese he had seen did not have such hair. "Excuse me," he said, coughing slightly.

The brown-haired boy was bumbling around, trying in a mild panic to pick up his scattered items. The other (probably not more than a year or two older than the brunet, but for sure, that would be enough as the different between adults and children, judging by his stumbling) made no move to aid him. Finally replacing the last fruit into his basket, the brunet breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. "I'm very sorry," he said, bowing. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Do you know where I could find any strong adversaries?"

The brunet blinked. Strong adversaries? That sounded so scary; what man would want to go _hunting_ for them of his free will? Apparently this one. "Strong adversaries…" he repeated, thinking. "I'm very weak; I have difficulty picking up this basket sometimes. But my father says that I have the potential to become very strong." The native man resisted the urge to scoff. In the first place, this _child_ was answering a question he had not been asked. In the second, he did not look like he could be strong at all. But then the brunet continued. "However, my father is much more powerful than anyone else I have ever seen. But he is becoming very old. Perhaps he can help you?"

The black-haired boy nodded. Yes, that would be fine. The brunet beamed a smile. "Oh, and by the way, my name is Yoshimune. My family owns this rice paddy." The boy, now identified as Yoshimune, flourished his hand toward the entire expanse. "You're a traveler, right? If you need water, there is a mountain stream nearby; I can show it to you."

"No, that is fine, thank you," the traveler replied. "First I would like to meet your father. And, out of courtesy, my name is Kyouya." They began walking down the long road, towards a home set in the middle of the expanse.

As they walked, Yoshimune continued speaking. "My father is a foreigner," he began. "Because of his light hair, the people in the village called him a demon. But then they realized how strongly he lives, even through his old age, and they respected him. He does not look very old, mind you, but he was born even before Tokugawa Ieyasu-sama." A lone water pipit winged past them, and Yoshimune shrieked in surprise.

"It's just a _tahibari_," Kyouya shrugged. "They must be moving into your paddy for the winter soon."

"Oh, but that would be troublesome," Yoshimune sighed, regaining his composure. "If winter were to set in early this year, we would lose this premature harvest. And then what would we do? We would have nothing to sell and nothing to eat. Oh, we're here."

Sliding the door open, Yoshimune called. "Father!" he shouted. "We have a guest!"

The man who appeared, just as Yoshimune had said, looked no older than Kyouya's father, probably younger. But if he _had_ been born before Tokugawa Ieyasu, then surely he should have been dead from age. And yet, here he was. The man had hair an even lighter shade than his son, bright yellow like a gold coin, flying outward in every direction possible. "Well, who do we have here, Yoshimune?" he asked. His eyes were orange like a flame, and the small smile that formed itself on his mouth was almost more friendly than his son's beam. "You know I'm losing my sight."

"That's not true, father," Yoshimune declared. "You've overcome aging, and you can still shoot a fox with an arrow almost from across a field."

"Ah, but my friend was a much more clear shot than me, years before you were born. I strained a lot to become better. But anyway," here, he turned to Kyouya and bowed. "Thank you for taking care of my son. My name is Ieyasu."

"Kyouya. You have the same name as our lord, Ieyasu-dono."

"That is true, though that lord has passed away. I can see you are a traveler; perhaps traversing the lands had affected your information intake, Kyouya?" Ieyasu laughed good-naturedly, and Yoshimune pointed out that his father was older than the deceased shogun.

"That is true," Ieyasu answered. "But my name was chosen after his; I was named Ieyasu by a friend. For I had come to these four islands a foreigner, and was reborn."

"Reincarnation?" Kyouya asked.

Ieyasu laughed again, a warm sound that mimicked a flame, just like his eyes. "No, no, I meant only that I had come here, and began a new life. This wonderful son of mine was born quite a while after, and his mother passed away shortly after his birth."

"I see."

"Now, come in, take your sandals off. I will prepare some tea."

Kyouya shuffle-kicked his sandals away, and Yoshimune lead him inside, taking the basket with him. Ieyasu was already sitting by the fire, tending to a pot hanging over the flames. The two boys sat down, Kyouya across from Ieyasu, and Yoshimune in between. This time it was Ieyasu who was rambling, and the two boys sat to listen. "I once had a friend like you, Kyouya," the old man began, stirring the pot before replacing the lid. "In personality and appearances. The face is the same. He had hair my color if not lighter, though. And his eyes were blue."

Kyouya hummed thoughtfully. Personality, perhaps. But he had never heard of such hair or eye colors. Were the foreigners become lighter and lighter, paling through life eventually to be truly white? It sounded absurd, but in his eyes, it was practical. "You know," Ieyasu continued. "The tea won't be done for a bit, but why don't you stay awhile? That friend that gave me my name once told me something: though a bird may soar all it wants through the sky, without the earth it had no place to rest its tired wings."

"I don't get it," Kyouya replied bluntly.

The blond man laughed again. "That's alright, you don't have to get it." There was a stretch of silence before Ieyasu continued, adding another stick to the fire. "Isn't that long hair hard to keep?" he asked. "It seems impractical to me."

Kyouya paused before answering. "… Yes."

"Then why do you keep it, Kyouya?" Yoshimune asked.

The older boy shrugged. "Tradition."

"No other reason?" Ieyasu asked. When his reply was a nod, he chuckled. "Then why don't you cut it? Though traditions are important, being yourself is important too."

"I suppose I may," Kyouya answered.

Ieyasu chuckled. "Well, then, why don't I cut it for you? This house can be the home of rebirth. I for my new life in the land of the rising sun, Yoshimune for being born, and you for casting off shed skin. Yoshimune, watch the pot, please."

Obediently, the brunet boy stirred the pot again and sniffed the air, as Ieyasu left the room. "It should be ready sometime soon," he told Kyouya, replacing the lid.

Presently, his father returned with a cloth bundle. "Scissors," he answered the boys' questioning looks. "And some knives. There's also a comb." Unrolling the bundle, he pulled out a pair of scissors, then pulled his own floor mat closer to him. "I recommend you come sit over here, farther from the fire. And hold still."

Kyouya looked at his reflection in a bucket of water. "What do you think?" Ieyasu asked.

When cut, the bangs had all but sprung into the center of his face, forming a triangle in the middle. It stood to reason; he couldn't remember how many times his hair had tried to fall straight downwards, blocking his vision. His ears poked out for the first time in years, and the ends of his hair tickled his jawline and the nape of his neck. "It looks round," he answered honestly.

"I think you look very cool, Kyouya," Yoshimune commented.

Scrutinizing his work for a moment, Ieyasu laughed again. "You really are just like Alaudi," he chuckled.

"Alaudi?" Kyouya asked.

"That friend that I said looks and acts like you; his name is Alaudi, it relates to the word for skylark," the old man explained. "Even your hair is the same. His bangs always did that too. Overall, his hair was always a bit more unruly than yours, but our other friends and I would always say that his head looked like a melon or a moon when he came back from a haircut. Anyway, I think you look good. It's a very natural appearance for you."

"Don't worry," Yoshimune whispered to Kyouya. "He reminisces a lot. It usually doesn't continue so long, but we haven't had guests in a while. Besides, father loves getting to know others by letting them get to know him." The older boy nodded. He remembered the old men in his village sometimes behaving this way; it simply couldn't be helped. The elderly would think back and remember the good times.

They sat back down around the ashes to enjoy the tea, and Ieyasu lit a lamp. After a while, the blond man sighed. "It's so nice talking to you, Kyouya," he said. "You must be around the same age as Yoshimune, and yet you're still so insightful. And it's getting late; why don't you spend the night?"

"I think that would be really good!" Yoshimune piped up, smiling again. "You should!"

"I shouldn't. You two have already done quite enough for me," Kyouya replied modestly. But after much coaxing, he decided to stay.

When Kyouya said that he would go out and get his own food to not trouble the two, Yoshimune practically had to tackle him to the ground to keep him from doing so. Kyouya struggled; the kid was heavier than he looked, and he was stuck with his face in the ground while Ieyasu lectured him. He relented, and ate with the two, sharing simple eggs over rice and miso soup. As they ate, they continued talking. Ieyasu was enjoying himself; Yoshimune was a timid child, and here he was, making wonderful friends with a passing traveler. It would have been nice if Kyouya could stay, but if he really _was_ like Alaudi, then he would surely not stay long. He might return again, but it would be guaranteed that one day, he would leave and not return.

When Yoshimune fell asleep with his head on the floor mat, Ieyasu turned to Kyouya after draping a blanket over his son. "Aren't you going to sleep?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he answered. "I'm used to staying up, so it's difficult for me to go to sleep too early." Ieyasu hummed and took another sip of his tea. "Actually," Kyouya began. "There is something I would like to ask of you."

"So all that rejection of hospitality was a front?" Ieyasu chuckled.

"Not at all," the other replied, shaking his head. "I truly am grateful for the both of you. What I meant was that… first of all, you know that I'm a traveler. Well, a large part of the reason I travel is because the only thing I was ever truly successful in was fighting."

Ieyasu mumbled something, and Kyouya asked him to repeat it. "Nothing, nothing," the blond answered. "I said only that you truly are the splitting image of Alaudi. When we were children those who did not know him often called him a demon for his personality. But please, continue."

Kyouya lowered his eyes. "I was wondering if you knew where I could find someone strong," he asked honestly.

"Let me guess," Ieyasu said, taking another sip. "If there is nothing else that you can do, you wish to truly be the best at it. You're also very good at acquiring information, but you simply have no use for it and therefore do not do it of your own accord. There is always a predator in the food chain, and, therefore, if you are fated to be that predator, then so be it: you will find the best prey."

"… Yes."

This time, Ieyasu's chuckle was dark. "Splitting image," he repeated again. There was a stretch of silence, in which both took long draughts of tea. "Listen to me," Ieyasu began, setting his cup down, the ceramic clacking quietly against the lacquered wooden edge of the fire pit. "If you are truly of that type, then I will liken you to the clouds."

"Clouds?" Kyouya repeated quizzically.

The old man nodded, orange eyes flickering in the dim firelight. They reflected a flying spark, the crackle filling the air each time silence descended. "Yes, clouds. Forever unfettered, the drifting cloud of solitude that forever walks its own path. And yet, they are bound by the sky. I'll explain to you a bit more about what kind of person Alaudi was.

"I told you that, when we were children, others would often call him a demon. He was of the no-nonsense sort, a stickler for the rules, and yet unbound by those same rules and logics. Intelligent and critical beyond his age, he was always seeking the to clear the next level. He was always difficult to understand, forever adapting and changing shape to fit the situation, coming and going as he wished. Almost anything he did, he was naturally talented at, and what he wasn't, he either abandoned or strived to achieve. But, the only things that truly gave him joy were fighting and winning.

"I once asked him why he was so violent all the time. He told me that, though he _could_ do many things, fighting gave him a clear position. It said many things. That he was strong. That he would overcome obstacles or blow them away. That he was prideful. And, when he won, that he had grasped something his adversary had not. He said these things applied even when not in physical combat, and therefore he sought to be the best in each field he chose to pursue. Is any of this holding with you?"

"Most of it," Kyouya answered. 'Where are you going with this?' was the unspoken question on his lips, but he did not voice it.

"Anyway," Ieyasu began again, adding more kindling to the fire to revitalize it. "The thing is, Kyouya, Alaudi had one particular trait that I admired. As I said, he was an unfettered cloud, drifting where he liked, bound to nothing. But, when my justice and his justice coincided, he would be my most powerful ally and greatest friend, taking out the largest number of adversaries and acting most benevolent to comrades. Even a fighter needs allies, and I want you to remember that you are always welcome in my home. Even after I am dead, I'm sure that Yoshimune will welcome you back at any time. I wouldn't even be surprised if, somewhere in the distant future, my descendants and yours cross paths again."

Kyouya nodded. All of this was a bit… daunting, to put it bluntly. "So you used to-"

"Yes," Ieyasu cut in. "I _used_ to. I will have nothing to do with that world anymore, a world where all of my friends will get hurt when I can do nothing. The whole reason I started dabbling in it was to protect my town from the thugs that wandered in my native Italy, and after our vigilante group morphed into that same crime group, I left it in the hands of my successor and escaped. Already one of my best friends had been killed and another had betrayed me. I wanted to protect everyone else by disappearing.

"But," he began, eyes narrowing. "And here's the 'but.' If I must fight to protect my only son and home, then I will. I have told you that I came to be reborn, and in my eyes, I am Japanese. I have Japanese pride, and a duty to fulfill. I will protect Yoshimune. And you, Kyouya, are already like a son to me, and should you ever need it, I will protect you too. I know that you may not need or want it, but nevertheless, I will. And one day, all the scattered pieces of the puzzle will come together."

After a long, dramatic pause, Kyouya answered bluntly. "Half of that made no sense whatsoever, Ieyasu-dono."

Ieyasu laughed this time, completely breaking the tense atmosphere. "I suppose I made my story a little too personal for it to fully resonate with another," he chortled. Kyouya cleared his throat, indicating that he wished to continue.

"But just now, I felt like I understood your feelings. Even if only a little bit, for a little bit."

"Then that's fine," Ieyasu said, smiling. "Here, we need to sleep. I'll get another blanket out."

In the morning, while Ieyasu and Kyouya were talking over breakfast, Yoshimune ran in with a panicked face. "What's wrong, Yoshimune?" the father asked, curious. The son had been sent out to collect information on the fields not a minute ago.

"It's them again, father!" the boy shout-whispered. "It's the Yakuza!"

"Again?" Ieyasu asked, surprised.

Yoshimune was on the verge of tears. "What will we do, father? The rice isn't ready for harvesting yet, so they're going to take something valuable!"

Ieyasu sighed. "Don't worry about it, we'll just- hey, where's Kyouya?"

Kyouya stood outside the door, dressed in his second yukata, a dark blue thing with black obi. He looked boldly up at the much taller degenerates. "Who're you, kid?" one of them asked gruffly.

"Never seen him before, nii-san."

"Oi, kid," one of them grunted, swaggering forwards. "Where's the owner of this plantation, huh? This land is part of our territory now."

"You," Kyouya said, pointing at the swaggering man. "Call off your herd. They're taking up useful space and wasting oxygen. Don't say anything, I'm going to vomit. Even the way you walk takes up more space than you should be filling."

"Who are you to order us around, runt?" the leader growled. "After I'm through with you, you'll never be able to walk again. Then we'll see who talks!" He made a motion, and one member broke rank and charged forward with a club in hand.

The man inexplicably collapsed immediately after coming within Kyouya's arms' reach. "Didn't you hear me?" the boy replied, nonchalant, as though he had not just brought down a man single-handed with one blow. "Leave at once."

This time two came at him, and Kyouya moved slower this time, mocking. A pair of tonfa were locked in his grip as he deftly dispatched one, then the other with expert blows to the solar plexus, shoulder and neck. "Brat," the leader growled.

Kyouya drew up his head with pride. "I am no runt, I am no kid, I am no brat," he stated. He dropped into a fighting stance.

"I am Kyouya of the Ryukyu Islands, and this home is under my protection! Leave at once, or I will bite each of you to death and leave your remains for the creatures of the forest!"

"-a? Are you okay?"

Kyouya cracked his eyes open slowly. He was lying on the floor, and he could feel a blanket covering him. It was probably nighttime, judging by the firelight glow that illuminated the otherwise dark room. When he tried to sit up, a lightning bolt of pain ran through his chest, and he curled up. Yoshimune helped him to lay back down. "You could have just said no," he chided softly.

"What happened?" Kyouya asked.

"I can answer that," Ieyasu said, helping the boy to sit up as he handed him a cup of tea. "You tried to protect us from the yakuza. And it probably would have worked if they hadn't had an archer stationed."

"Archer?" Kyouya asked.

"They had a back-up hiding in the grass field," the old man answered. "Purely by luck, I saw the bow being pulled and got you out of the way, but you still got a nasty gash all across your chest." Looking down under the blanket, Kyouya discovered that the upper half of his yukata (which was badly torn everywhere) had been pushed down around his waist, and instead his chest and arms were wrapped in bandages. There was a dark bloodstain on his chest, and he grimaced. "You fell unconscious shortly after," he continued. "Yoshimune immediately began treating all your injuries while I cleared out the rest of them. Thank you, Kyouya."

"I still really do feel as though I owe you too much," Kyouya answered honestly.

Yoshimune laughed. "Then you can pay us back someday," he said. "In this life or the next, it doesn't really matter."

Kyouya growled. "But I still didn't get all of them."

"No, but you got most of them. And you've been out for most of the day. You were still out when Yoshimune and I came back from working in the field."

After a stretch of silence, Kyouya asked the question that was most on his mind. "Why do you continue to care for a vagabond like me?"

Ieyasu smiled, and Yoshimune giggled. "How can I not protect these two wonderful sons of mine?" the old man asked. Kyouya was left speechless.

The next day, insisting that he was perfectly fine, Kyouya worked with father and son to help pull weeds in the fields. By the end of the day, his back felt broken in two, and the other two laughed that that was how it always was. "We got used to it," they answered. "But it still hurts sometimes." They spent another happy evening together, and Ieyasu insisted on replacing Kyouya's bandages.

They fell into a rhythm. Several times, Kyouya had disappeared at noon, only to return an hour or so later with a rabbit or pheasant in tow. Kyouya truly did feel content with the two, but he could not help but begin to hear the call of nomadic ways begin to voice itself anew. He would have to leave these two and their rice paddy by the mountain stream one day. He would have to leave this home that he had come to love.

"I'm going to have to leave someday soon," he said over dinner one evening, and neither Ieyasu nor Yoshimune looked surprised.

"I expected no less from our cloud sparrow," the father chuckled. It was a joke; Kyouya had, again and again, been likened to clouds and to the mysterious man, Alaudi, the skylark. It was fitting, really: the characters for "skylark" were formed of "cloud" and "sparrow," and Kyouya had once told them of how, when a smaller child, he had envied the birds. "That's fine. But remember what I told you? You are, forever, welcomed in this home. If those wings of yours will take you far, then may this, the home of rebirth, be the land where you rest your tired wings and begin flight anew."

It was the next morning when all three awoke to a loud banging on the door. Cautiously, Ieyasu said that he would first investigate. Opening the door, he was faced with a group of foreigners. _"This is the one?"_ one asked a Japanese man in another language, and the latter nodded.

The former nodded to a taller, more regal-looking man, and this one stepped forwards. "Is this the home where Kyouya of the Ryukyu Islands lives?" he asked; his Japanese was faltering, slightly broken, and accented, but it was good for a foreigner.

"What business do you have here?" Ieyasu replied.

"We have been informed that this Kyouya is a strong fighter with great potential. We come with a proposition."

Hidden from sight, Kyouya tugged his father's sleeve, silently asking that he be allowed to see. The other relented, stepping back.

"I am he," the black-haired boy stated, stepping forwards. "What business do you want with me?"

"As I have said, I bear a proposition," the foreigner stated. "I am offering to allow you into our organization, where you can fight for our boss all you want."

"I fight under no one," Kyouya growled. He visibly bristled, like a angered dog.

"Then fight with us," the man replied. "You do not have to comply. But if you do, there is no limit to what you could amount to."

"I ask that you wait," Kyouya said. Waiting for no reply, he shut the door and went back to the living room.

Ieyasu and Yoshimune listened while Kyouya told them what the man had wanted. "Is this not what you were searching for?" Ieyasu asked. "The opportunity to find the strongest adversaries?"

"But this land has become my home, and you two have become my only allies," Kyouya replied. "I don't need them, and I fight under no one."

"Don't worry about us, if that's what's holding you back," Yoshimune said, weaving something. "Father is still strong, and I'm learning. Though it'll be lonelier, we'll manage just as we had before. If Father is right about your type, then this may be the best course for you."

Kyouya relented.

"Bring him closer, you know I'm losing my sight."

Kyouya slapped away the hands that reached towards him, and walked forwards toward the bed in the center of the large room. The entire building was decidedly western, and he didn't like it. It was too big, too decorative, too fake. He would much rather be on the small rice field, where simplicity reigned and everyone was honest and hardworking. He was wearing the traveler's robe he had worn on the day he first met his family, and the new straw hat that Yoshimune had woven for him hung on his neck, replacing the old and battered one.

The old man who sat there looked like he must have been even older than Ieyasu, and that was very old indeed. "He looks like someone…" the old man wheezed, "Alaude. That's it."

"Alaude?" Kyouya asked curiously.

"Alaude was a former student of mine," the other wheezed. "He's disappeared to who knows where now, but he was always such a powerhouse… but also a restive horse. You there, call my son, please. Kyouya, come, stand closer."

Kyouya obeyed, and nearly-sightless eyes stared at him tiredly as shaking limbs reached out to touch various parts of his body: his arms, his face, his hands. "You are already very strong, aren't you?" the man chuckled. "And with unlimited potential to continue growing."

"Father?"

Both Kyouya and the old man turned their heads to see a man, at least ten if not fifteen or even twenty years older than Kyouya. "My son, come closer." The black-haired man stalked closer, head held high and regal. "This is Kyouya of the Ryukyu Islands, from Giappone," the father said, pointing a shaky finger towards the boy. "My dear and only son, I leave his training, as I do the entire Cavallone family, to you."

Wheezing out another breath, the old man sank into his cushions and slept forever.

"Kyouya, there's something I need to ask of you."

Kyouya turned to face his mentor. "What do you want," he snapped. He had grown more solitary, more biting, since leaving the rice paddy and its occupants, but he could not help it and he didn't want to. These were foreigners, their ways and mannerisms unfamiliar to him.

"Actually," the other began, sitting down next to the student. "I was wondering, is there anything you truly want?"

Kyouya thought, and only one thing came to mind. "Whether in this life or the next, I _will_ return all favors to the family of the rice paddy by the mountain stream."

The older man sighed. "Alright," he said. "Actually, there's something that our scientists have discovered…"

"Boss, you're saying you want to send this _child_ through such a delicate process?"

Kyouya growled, and his mentor stood up for him. "Kyouya is no child," he said. "He is a fully grown man of nearly 25 now. And yes, I do."

The men in long white coats shrugged and began operating their great machine.

And Kyouya fell. He felt like he was falling through time and space itself, the reality around him falling away like a molting bird's fluff. Down, down, down. As he watched, things began blurring past him, barely recognizable images flying by at high speeds. Everything blurred, then was engulfed in white.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing on a narrow stone path, made with what the Cavallone had called "concrete," wide enough probably for one cart only. On both sides, the path was lined with brick walls, with houses hiding behind them.

He was dressed in strange attire. Black pants, white dress shirt, a black jacket hanging from his shoulders. The shoes on his feet were new leather, though much more square than the ones that the Cavallone had always worn, and the face, too, with its gray eyes and emotionless expression, was young again, probably around 14 or 15. His straight black hair was cut the way Ieyasu had done it for him, so many years ago.

"Wah!"

He looked forward then, to see a figure fallen farther down the road. Striding towards the other, he realized that the boy had light brown hair, and his eyes narrowed quizzically. This boy's hair flew in every direction imaginable, and he looked almost exactly like the kind father in his memories, his father. And yet, his personality and frantic face was that of the son, his brother. "Excuse me," he coughed slightly.

The brown-haired boy was bumbling around, trying in a mild panic to pick up his scattered items. The other (probably not more than a year or two older than the brunet, but for sure, that would be enough as the different between adults and children, judging by his stumbling) knelt down to aid him. Finally replacing the last sheet of paper into his box, the brunet breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. "I'm very sorry for making you help me," he said, bowing. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Kyouya blinked. It was so strange, seeing this boy, the mixture of his two family members. "What is your name?"

The brunet blinked at the odd request, but complied. "My name is Sawada," he answered. "Sawada Tsunayoshi. I live here, see?" Tsunayoshi pointed to the nameplate on the side wall of the house next to them, and Kyouya scrutinized the letters.

_Sawa_, a mountain stream.

_Da_, or _ta_, a rice paddy.

"_Oh, and by the way, my name is Yoshimune. My family owns this rice paddy. You're a traveler, right? If you need water, there is a mountain stream nearby; I can show it to you."_

"_Thank you for taking care of my son. My name is Ieyasu."_

"And you?" the boy asked. "What's your name?"

"Kyouya," he answered.

"No surname?" the brunet asked curiously.

_A lone water pipit winged past them, and Yoshimune shrieked in surprise. "It's just a _tahibari_," Kyouya shrugged. "They must be moving into your paddy for the winter soon."_

_Scrutinizing his work for a moment, Ieyasu laughed again. "You really are just like Alaudi," he chuckled. "That friend that I said looks and acts like you; his name is Alaudi, it relates to the word for skylark," the old man explained._

"_I expected no less from our cloud sparrow," the father chuckled. It was a joke; Kyouya had, again and again, been likened to clouds and to the mysterious man, Alaudi, the skylark. It was fitting, really: the characters for "skylark" were formed of "cloud" and "sparrow," and Kyouya had once told them of how, when a child, he had envied the birds._

Tahibari, a water pipit, had formed one of his first happy memories with the two. But there were no more rice paddies, no more _ta_s.

A water pipit without its rice paddy was simply a skylark. An Alaudi. A cloud sparrow.

"I am Hibari Kyouya."

* * *

><p><em>I'm glad that I finished this so quickly… even if I have a report to finish instead. Wait, no… I'm glad that I finished this at all, but I wish I had been able to finish my report instead. Something like that?<em>

_^ That was four days ago; I forgot to really upload it. Sorry!  
><em>


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